


Marked.

by MemeMeUpScotTea



Category: TMA - Fandom, The Magnus Archives
Genre: Delusions, Depression, Derealization, Michael Being Michael, No physical sex it's all mental, Other, Reader Insert, Some of these tags aren't applicable yet but will be! see: masochism, The Depression is in the main character's past but they still have delusions, completely self indulgent, doesn’t have to be smut if you don’t want to see it like that, its complicated i am sorry, it’s only in chapter 3 so far, mention of being suicidal, no character is actually suicidal it is just a mention, no genetalia mentioned at all! again anything that can be considered smut is all mental, not necessarily enemies to lovers but more like distrust to lovers?, reader can be any gender, smut that can be perceived as smut if you want to see it like that, this is my first fic on ao3 feedback is appreciated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26223277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemeMeUpScotTea/pseuds/MemeMeUpScotTea
Summary: Though you work as an archival assistant in the Magnus Institute, you are not marked by the eye. Although you still are bound to it by working for it, you are simply unclaimed by any of the powers you have learned control this universe. Or, that is the case until a certain blonde distortion makes himself comfortable in your apartment.**I have not finished TMA and am only up to episode 107 as I write this so sorry if anything is inaccurate**
Relationships: Michael Shelley/Reader, Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives)/Reader
Comments: 40
Kudos: 127





	1. A Door.

Working as an archival assistant was... interesting, to say the least. Jon was rarely every around, Martin was too busy worrying about Jon, Melanie was homicidal, Tim was too depressed to be homicidal, and Basira, well, Basira was chill. 

The days were mostly filled with research. Following up statements, finding information about the Unknowing or whatever Jon needed info on at the time, etc. The trauma and extensive mass of new perspectives on deities beyond human imagination was another thing, but, if one pushes that aside, one would just find it to be an ordinary, boring, job.

But it wasn’t. It was the farthest thing from that. From close encounters with death one too many times, Elias knowing where everyone was whenever he wanted, being pinned down to a place you could never ever leave no matter how much it ate you up from the inside, it definitely was anything but ordinary.

And while this obviously was common knowledge, one tries to make the most of it, in order to cope, or stay sane.

So when a familiar yellow door appeared in your living room, it was the least you could do to ignore it. It was just there, on the wall to the right of your couch. There had never been a door there before, and the telltale yellow shade and the patterns that emerged when you looked too closely at it told you everything you needed to know. 

But you were smart, and exhausted, and had no time, patience, or energy, to endure whatever the hell the distortion wanted to do with you. Why it was in your apartment, you had no idea, but you could care less as long as it didn’t bother you. Not even bothering to change, you flopped down in your bed and fell asleep.

When you woke up the next morning the door was gone. And for the next few days, it didn’t appear again. You were willing to write it off as a dream when a week later you came home to see the distortion, or “Michael,” as you’ve heard it been called, sitting on your kitchen counter. 

“Hello, Archival assistant.”

It was hard to look at him. It didn’t necessarily hurt, no, but it built a pressure behind the eyes like going outside after being in a dark room. His form was in his “human” state, well, as human as it could be, but when you looked too hard at where, say, his neck ended and his head began, the edges fuzzed together like static. Michael had one arm behind him, leaning on the counter, as his long, spindly, fingers spread out over the granite. His twiggish legs extended over the edge, and he had one crossed over the other’s knee. Michael’s hair fit the descriptions you’ve heard so many times in the archives: bright blonde, flowing, distorted curls that never really stopped moving in the corners of your eyes, like an optical illusion you could find online. His eyes were something else, no pupils to put a center on the spiraling iris of too many colors to name, twisting every which way, sometimes bubbling up like a lava lamp. The smile that graced his face was way too wide with too many teeth, pointed and sharp. 

He was absolutely beautiful.

Michael quirked what you decided was an eyebrow in your direction and you figured you must have been staring for too long.

“What do you want.”

“I do not have wants, archival assistant.”

“Then why are you here?”

There was a pause.

“Because you intrigue me, human.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. That could be malicious, a compliment, an insult, or simply a statement with no meaning passing from his toothy mouth, but it definitely did not explain anything on why he was here.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He laughed. His famous laugh. It’s the most you’ve heard about Michael, his echoey expression that so many said was too loud and headache-inducing.

But to you, it just sounded like a song. 

“It means, you are quite fascinating, assistant.”

Obviously he -no- it, wasn’t going to give you a singular straight answer (as it’s nature would suggest), so you took a second to collect yourself, breath, and take the leftovers you had in the fridge to eat for dinner. His colorful eyes followed you, silent, watching you place the food in the microwave and turn it on. You had no intent on indulging this creature if it wasn’t going to give you answers, so it was best to treat it like the most normal thing in the kitchen.

“Don’t I scare you, assistant? You know I can kill you, slowly and painfully; I can tear you to pieces this second if I so felt like it.” 

“Then do it.” You said, mouth full of food.

“Do you have a death wish, human?” He slowly stood up, less of a human motion and more like just flashes of images. He appeared in the chair across from you, grinning, long fingers tapping on the table between the both of you. 

You swallowed your food. “No, I just don’t think you will. If you wanted me dead, I would be, but instead, you are seated across from me watching me eat my food. Which begs the question, do you need to eat? I can get you something from the fridge if you-”

“I don’t /need/ to eat, human. I simply eat things if they call to be eaten. I don’t have, as you put it, needs.”

“Don’t you need to like, lie and trick people and stuff like that.”

“Yes, I suppose I do need to lie.” His grin widened.

You couldn’t help but smile back. “Ah. I see.”

“And so you do, beholder.”

You pushed your leftovers over to him, to see what he would do.

“Why are you calling me that, 'beholder,' Elias has told me that I don’t belong to the eye.”

You watched as he picked up the leftovers, plastic box and all, and swallowed it whole. “You are not marked by the eye, no, but you do indeed work for it, making you as much as a beholder as anyone else.”

“So I get the annoying things like being forced to work in the archives until I die but none of the fun stuff like mind control?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“Bummer.”

“But you are unmarked, assistant. You could become-”

“So this is why you’re here, I see. You want me to serve you and the Spiral or whatever. Tough luck, goldilocks. Listen, I’m not delusional, so-”

“Your mental health records say otherwise, human.”

“What?”

He leaned over, and you could almost describe it as a snaking movement. His torso extended across the table as he placed both massive hands either side of you on the table, his face inches from yours as his grin bloomed.

“Major Depressive Disorder in your youth yes? Would have been minor if it weren’t for the, let’s see, the constant delusion that nothing is real.”

How could he fucking know that?

“But I don’t have that anymore, I’ve been better-”

“In your depressive symptoms, yes. But still, lurking in the back of your psyche, the constant feeling that surfaces are too soft to be touched, that noises are never loud enough to be heard, the feeling of falling, being lost, in a place you were never supposed to-”

“Okay! I got it, Jesus Christ. Just, stop. Okay yes, maybe a little bit. But that has nothing to do with me becoming one of your-one of your servants! I’m not even marked!”

He compressed back down to his sitting position across from you.

“But you could be, human. I could make all of that make sense. You would finally be able to, after all these years, understand why you were feeling that way. Understand the why behind the what, or the what behind the everything. It would all make sense, human. Isn’t that what you want? Answers? I can give you those, and so, so much more, assistant. It can be-”

“No.”

He did something that can only be best described as an exhale as he tilted his head and relaxed in his seat, though he didn’t need to breathe as far as you knew.

“Another time then, assistant.”

You watched as his wide grin extended and pressed itself into a smirk like he knew something you didn’t; like he just got you where he wanted you. But you wouldn’t let him have it. No, you wouldn’t. 

“Get out.”

“As you wish, assistant.”

The way he popped the T’s were so uniquely Michael, nearly as uniquely Michael as when he opened a door in your kitchen you hadn’t noticed was there. He paused in the doorway, slowly turning his head around. 

“I’ll be back, human, don’t you worry.”

And then he left you in your kitchen, alone, for the night.


	2. Ignorance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael kept his promise.

Over the next several weeks, Michael kept his promise. He kept appearing everywhere, but never approaching; only smiling and waiting. You found him on your couch pretending to read a book of yours that melted into where he touched it. Standing across the street from your house. In the window of the apartment across the street. Sitting in rooms, on tables, hell, you even once found him in your fridge. He never once tried to speak to you as his colorful form bled into whichever space he was in. He just watched. If he was gonna play this waiting game, he would have to wait a hell of a lot longer. You weren’t talking to him any time soon.

But after some weeks passed and you screamed after you found him on your bedroom ceiling, you accidentally opened your mouth. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Michael! What do you want?”

“You.”

A pause.

“What?”

“You know that I want you to join me as part of the spiral, assistant. Yet, you have been so stubborn. But you have forgotten one small thing, human.”

“And what’s that.” You crossed your arms.

“I don’t perceive time, archivist. You can ignore me for decades and I will still be here, waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“You to agree. You see, I can’t simply have you join me without being ready, I’d just end up killing you and that would be no fun at all. You aren’t scared of me and therefore I would obtain nothing from your passing. I need you to want it.”

“Well, that’s too bad. Because I never will.”

“Then I will eternally follow you, human.”

“Seriously? Don’t you have better things to do?”

“No concept of time, human. I have all of eternity to do whatever I please.” He drew out the ‘S’, slinking down from the ceiling to look down at you from his towering height. His shifting frame was imposing, and you couldn’t help but stare back up at him. His face was formed of shifting colors, mostly primaries with some pinks and oranges spun around in there for good taste. His presence was a hurricane you couldn’t begin to comprehend, but the least you could do was try. 

“Good to know then. That being around me pleases you.”

You watched as he processed your comment, seeing more reds swirl around the perimeter of his face, colliding in the middle before fizzing out. Gorgeous.

“You are quite full of yourself, assistant.”

“Always.”

He was gone in the next few seconds.

The visits never decreased in quantity. You’d find him, perched in impossible places like a cat, and you did mostly ignore him. That was until you didn’t. If you couldn’t make him leave by ignoring him, you could certainly attempt chatting his head off. You would talk to him about anything, literally. From childhood trauma to the color of the grass outside to sports scores to showing him dance moves. Sometimes he responded occasionally, sometimes you had full conversations, but mostly he just stared, nodding here and there and adding in remarks like “I see,” and “I don’t think I quite understand.” But he was always there. Even when he wasn’t, you caught yourself talking to thin air, then sighing as you realized Michael was nowhere around. You hated to admit it but you were starting to get used to his presence around the house.

He never was at work though. And if Elias knew anything he never said, but you were repeatedly asked by Martin and Basira what was going on as of late because apparently you seemed, well, happier.

This was obviously surprising. No doubt it wasn’t Michael that was causing this, no, it couldn’t be. And after more thinking, you concluded it was just that you were talking about your thoughts. Just releasing it into the world. Lord knows you needed a therapist after the shift you’ve seen working in the archives, and it’s not like you were close enough to any of your co-workers to spill the stuff that you told Michael.

It was just the venting. 

You came home from work later that week to find Michael lying down in your bathtub. It looked like someone bled an LSD hallucination into your tub. You closed your eyes and shook your head, knowing if you started looking for too long you wouldn’t be able to stop. He was too intriguing for his own good. Sighing, you began to wash your face in the mirror. 

“Van Gogh,” you stated.

“What?”

“He was a painter, a long time ago. Was he marked by the spiral?”

“I do hope you understand that names and professions mean nothing to myself.”

“People hated his work. Said he was mad. Now he’s one of the best-known painters in the world. Used a lot of spirals in his paintings, now that I think about it.”

He crooked his head.

“Most likely. Most creative people who were mad most likely were part of the spiral; and of course, with their whims, they went to go on expressing us in their work; being that we’re just so....”

“Maddening.”  
“Beautiful.”

Fuck. 

He’s never gonna let me hear the end of this one. Maybe he didn’t hear it? I could feel my pulse in my mouth though; and I bet he could smell it rise or some shit. Don’t look nervous don’t look nervous don’t look-

“What was that, human?”

You tore contact from your eyes in the mirror as you forced yourself to look at him. Michael’s grin was lopsided, his eyebrows raised, and you knew he was going to hold this over your head. But he caught you, and it’s not like you could lie to the God of lying. You sat down on the lidded toilet beside him. 

“Beautiful. I said you were beautiful.”

The heat of embarrassment was palpable in your cheeks. 

“You think I’m /pretty/, assistant? For all those times I caught you staring I thought it was out of confusion, but no, you were just caught up in my astonishing good looks! I don’t even have a complete physical form, assistant. You must be delusional to think I’m beautiful, human!” 

He laughed. It could’ve been for ten seconds or ten hours. The sound echoed off the bathroom tile and it surrounded you, flooding your ears. He was clearly making fun of you, but you couldn’t deny it. Just looking at him now, the colors expanding and dilating in his eyes, his lips stretched to accommodate his teeth, the sharp angles of his face made fuzzy by the intangibility that was his existence. His hair sprawled around him like a sick halo, and if you weren’t aware of his power you could swear he would slip down the drain. His hands were clasped over his stomach as he continued to laugh, the movement making static and his form tensed and released, his legs kicking slightly as they dangled over the side of the bath. He was something completely alien, of course, but this complex notion of something so abstract and everlasting radiating from this neon figure that sat in your bath, was, absolutely beautiful. 

As these thoughts and weeks of staring came back to you, the realization hit like a truck.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

His laughing ceased as he sat up, sitting in some warped form of cross-legged, his hands now dangling over the side of the bath.

“You really are delusional.”

“I thought we established this already.”

“I suppose so.” He cocked his head, looking at you, eyeing some sort of explanation.

“You’re every painting, every song. Every stick figure every child has ever drawn and every color the sky has accidentally made exuding out of the form that is you. You could be a mess, and I suppose that technically you are, but it’s not like when you mix together all your paints and get brown sludge. You are every stroke of a brush, every note, every laugh, every false hope, every beautiful and disturbing lie, every love, every joke, every manipulation, bleeding through the lines of teeth and bones. You are the most beautiful thing to ever exist.”

Michael paused, his grin twitching. You couldn’t do anything but stare solemnly at him. You could have not said any of that, but a part of you needed him to know that you genuinely thought that, without being marked, even if he killed you. 

“You are quite the poet, assistant.”

“And you are quite the muse.”

“I see you are farther gone than I anticipated.”

“If you open your eyes, Michael, I’m not even marked yet.”

Pausing, he shifted.

“You’re correct. I think now would be a good time to mention that I do not have a concept of beauty.”

“Another lie to make me disappointed, Michael? I know you feel beauty when you craft a lie so perfect it fools even the sanest. When you finally get to feast after working on a manipulation so perfect, you could even consider it beautiful. That was a bad lie Michael, what else do you have in you.”

You bit your tongue the second the words left your mouth. Michael and a challenge? Never a good combo. And now he was slowing rising to his full height and stepping out of the bath. As he stood in front of you, his height surrounded you until you could swear there was Michael in every direction. He carefully, slowly, placed a sharp hand on your shoulder, as his face split to make his grin shift and stretch to be so wide; his rainbow irises dilating and the colors of his form shifting. His face was so close to yours you could practically inhale him if you weren’t careful, and you thought you just might. 

“What do you /want/ me to have in me?” 

That was the last straw. You reached out your right hand to touch his face, the feeling of static pleasantly flowing throw you from where your fingers met his form. His hand on your shoulder slowly moved up to where it met your neck, and having his sharp fingers anywhere near your neck should have terrified you. He could easily kill you with a flick of his wrist; but at this moment, you would let him. You would let him kill you over and over again if it meant you could be this close to his gleaming form for one second. And when you went to move your fingers up to his hair, it was still staticky, but it was also soft; a pillow cushioning his sharp and angular form. The hum of spirals that shifted down his figure when you ran your hands through his hair could have made you melt if you weren’t careful, and when you looked in his eyes to where his flowing irises expanded to his entire eye, was when you closed the gap between you. 

Something about kissing Michael is that you always expect to care more about the teeth. These sharp protrusions possibly stabbing you in the mouth, but when you kissed him, you couldn’t feel them. Instead, you were just met with a warmth so soft, so inviting, so perfect. It felt like you were being pulled apart so perfectly that it would be enjoyable, like a sunburn that felt warm and loving instead of hot and scolding. And while Michael was neither warm nor capable of the concept of love, his mouth on yours felt like it could be a million things; like it could be anything and everything under the sun. And when that pressure peaked to perfection and you thought it couldn’t get any better, was when his tongue made its way into your mouth. It felt like electricity, it desperately twisted with your tongue, like a piece of Michael was coming through the gap between his lips. You couldn’t help but let out a gasp as he did this, tightening your hands in his hair and earning an inhuman whine from him in response. As the sound made its way into your ears, you decided it was your favorite, and that you would do absolutely anything to hear it again. You kept kissing him, hands moving about his hair, and his resting on you so gently. In this state of bliss, kissing something so abstract yet right between your hands, you couldn’t help but let your own hands and thoughts wander. You just wanted more of him, and you didn’t care what that would mean. If you were marked or whatever, fuck it, it didn’t matter. You decided that you just needed more of Michael.

And right at that moment, he slowly, carefully, pulled away. And in his newfound shades of red and a grin so, so, wide and mischievous, he vanished, nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I'm gonna need more time for chapter 3 but I promise I will get to it eventually!! I hate keeping you guys waiting as much as you hate it. Just school and stuff happening atm so it's hard for me to find the time and inspiration. Again, any feedback and comments are greatly appreciated, and criticism both positive and negative would be incredible!! Love you guys. Hope you enjoyed <3


	3. Bliss.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the start of the smut-not-really -smut! Again, no genitalia mentioned at all! Hope you enjoy :)

Chapter 3

A week has passed since you, well, since you kissed Michael. He hasn’t been in your house since the event, leaving the building more empty and quiet than you’ve grown used to. You caught yourself talking to the air on more than one occasion, catching yourself. After thinking about it for some time, you realized how dangerous this was. Getting used to Michael in your life was something that could only lead to danger, yet somehow, the thought excited you. You didn’t realize you were smiling until your jaw relaxed, and you quickly shook it off. Michael was not human. He wasn’t even physical, there was no possible way to have a normal relationship with him. Yet, you didn’t care. Working as an archival assistant at the Magnus Institute didn’t exactly allow you to have a normal relationship with anyone, even just friendships, and at this point in your life, the thought of bringing in a completely monogamous, dedicated relationship to a human being bored you. After all the things you’ve seen, after experiencing just a sliver of what was Michael, you didn’t think you could go back. Even if this was all you would ever get from him, it would be fine, and if he came back, it would only be better. You decided then you would never give in to him, but you would never give him up.

You stared into your bedroom mirror, trying to find some sense of self. Any time you had outside of the archive was you trying to live like a normal person, trying to re-connect yourself to humanity. And now that you were again alone, this process continued. Your reflection stared back, eager, and you tried to familiarize yourself with the shapes of your face. You traced with your finger the outline of your eyes, watching them dart as you traced your nose, outlining your mouth. Everything about you was so… human. You continued to trace, leaving smudges on the mirror but you didn’t care, trying to get acquainted with a person you no longer recognized. However, the longer you stared, the longer you grew more dissatisfied with your reflection. It was so… empty, blank, even. You remembered Michael calling you unmarked, and now you could see this un-claimedness staring right back at you; a blank slate. As your dissatisfaction grew, you craved to know what you would look like if what you expected to see was there. What was missing? What was wrong with this face? What would you look like if you were… whole? 

That’s when your reflection started to shift. The glass in the mirror swirled and dipped and expanded and shrunk and you watched the features grow more and more into caricatures. Your eyes swirled and your smile grew, teeth growing large and the angles of your face growing sharp. It never stopped- it was a continuous movement- and at that moment, you weren’t scared. You were-

“-Beautiful.”

You saw him in the mirror behind you, a liquid resting among the confines of your desk chair. In the reflection, you saw him in his more distorted state, stretched and spiraled, a pattern breaking through the physical form. He was strewn, smug, a languid smile on his face, teeth melting and fusing themselves back together.

“Welcome back, Michael.”

“Have you missed me, assistant.”

“Not one bit.” 

Turning to face him, his body seemed more tangible, though you knew better. Though he was sitting, he was nearly still as tall as you, and you watched his eyes shift at the same level as your own.

“Interesting. Now I know I’m the throat of delusion, but are you taking up second place in the rankings? For I feel you may be lying to me, assistant.”

“I’m not stupid, Michael. I’m not gonna miss someone who was never really here, to begin with.”

“Who says I’m not here?”

“Your non-corporeal form bleeding through my chair.”

“Fine. I may barely be corporeal but it doesn’t mean I’m not here, assistant. I’m just as much here as you are, in fact, I’d even argue to say I’m more present than you. Why don’t you come here, assistant?”

You quirked an eyebrow.

“Why? So you can kiss me and run off again?”

He laughed, long, breathy, and hard.

“First of all, I believe it was you who kissed me, assistant, and second of all, I’m just going to prove it to you.”

“Prove it? Prove what?”

“That I’m a little bit more physical than you seem to comprehend.”

You took a wary step forward, your knees practically brushing his. He reached a long, pointed hand towards your face, his thumb rested flat on your cheek while his other fingers hooked and rested below your ear and around your neck. He quirked his head towards you as if asking for permission, to which you nodded, heart racing. He sat up, closed his eyes, and pressed the pad of his thumb into your temple.

“I want you to feel it.”

His eyes snapped open but that was the last thing that mattered. Everything around you was Michael. He was still in front of you, but he was everywhere else as well. The air around you was hot and dense with Michael. The floor you stood on was malleable and Michael. The walls were melting, but they were also Michael. And everything you felt, in and around you, was so thoroughly him. The blood in your veins was not yours, it was Michael, the bones in your body were Michael, the atoms that molded and held you together were all Michael in every detail. And that wasn’t all, no, because you felt it. You felt him dense and malleable and melting and molding and holding you together. He wrapped around you and was inside you and was everywhere. You might’ve fallen to your knees but at this point, you absolutely did not care as the only thing you could feel was bliss. It did not matter that nothing was real or too real or non-existent as you felt him boil inside you like a hunger. You were floating, maybe you were laughing, and all that could be felt was a deep-rooted pleasure that he was absolutely overtaking you. You knew everything and nothing about him as he filtered through your lungs instead of air. It was more than a drunkenness or high or any sort of sexual pleasure anyone could achieve, but yet the only way to describe it would be all three at once. You saw every color, every song, every image in existence swirl around you and through you and you thought you could explode. You felt like you were peaking, or rising, like a rollercoaster about to drop, but before you could reach that high, he pulled away. You felt dread as it was torn away from in and around you and he left your systems.

When you came to, you were shaking in Michael’s long gangly arms as he cradled you, apparently having moved you to your bed. He was not unwinded himself, you noticed, as he was also breathing deeply with a twitch to him, with newfound magentas spreading through him like a wildfire. As he saw your eyes open he smiled lazily and looked down at you.

“Any questions?”

You blinked up at him.

“What was that?”

“That was me, assistant.”

You closed your eyes to process the answer, feeling him radiating as you leaned on him.

“Why’d you stop?”

A light chuckle escaped his mouth.

“You didn’t want me to mark you, remember? I was simply following up on your wishes. I would’ve killed you.”

A pause.

“Why?”

He was being too nice to you, too giving. This shouldn’t have happened, he should’ve killed you by now.

“You have to want it, remember? Killing you would give me nothing.”

“Because I don’t fear you, yes, I remember. Does everyone who isn’t scared of you get this special treatment?”

His grin widened.

“Not many aren’t scared of me, assistant, and even more so, no, only the best do.”

You were his soft spot, and he just admitted it. 

You grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him to you, kissing him hard. You gripped his hair and he whined, loud and long, and you felt that pleasant sunburn feeling you were starting to grow familiar with. You only pulled away when you needed to breathe. 

“And what was that about?” He leered down at you.

“I want you to finish it.”

“But that’ll mark you or kill you-”

“I want it.”

“You want me to kill you, assistant? I didn’t realize you were growing suicidal on me-”

“I want you to mark me.”

His eyebrows raised and his eyes spun neon whirlpools at you. But then he squinted, as if he was looking at something you couldn’t see, and shook his head.

“As tempting as that offer is, assistant, you’re not ready yet.”

“Not ready yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

He set you down off of his lap and began to stand up and head towards a not-your-bedroom-door you noticed earlier. You sighed and looked over to him, preparing yourself to carry on with your day to day life.

“I’ll be back, assistant, don’t you worry. Also, absolutely love the new look.”

His grin stretched inhumanely, and you heard his laugh echo as he stepped through the door and shut it behind him. 

The new look? What the hell did he mean by that?

As you hurriedly looked towards your mirror, you saw it:

You were covered head-to-toe in white, fractal, spirals.

You had work tomorrow.

You were fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I had midterms this past week so thank you for being so patient. The comments you all have been leaving are really keeping me going right now and make my day! Thank you for them. As always, any comments or feedback are always appreciated. Love you all! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Wrote this in one sitting with minimal edits so please let me know if there are any mistakes! Feedback both negative and positive is well appreciated!! Let me know if you want the next chapter. Love you all!! <3


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